Sleight of Hand and Twist of Fate
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: 1x03 AU. Evelyn decides to go to bed at a really inopportune time for Mr. Pamuk.


**Hey all! So ****Not a Vain Man**** will be updated as soon as possible, since I'm settling in at university, but here is a oneshot/possible multi-fic AU about the Honorable Evelyn Napier that's been bouncing around in my head for some time. Also keep an eye out for some Matthew fic in the near future!**

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Evelyn's eyes widened for a millisecond and then set in a familiar, unaffected gaze as the true lady of the evening excused herself to follow Kemal out into the hallway, interrupting both his Matthew's dueling attempts to keep her attention. "I was a fool to bring him here," the young heir to the Viscount Branksome lamented as he watched Mary Crawley depart. It was obvious that women preferred the exotic, charming foreigner to the viscount's son turned civil servant. Why should she be any different? He had been excited at the promise of something developing between them, so that eventually he could ask her to marry him. He had been fascinated ever since her deb ball when he was freshly graduated from Oxford. He remembered it so fondly, even though he had probably embarrassed himself by all his staring and stuttering. His best mate from school had had to convince him to ask her to dance.

"_If you don't ask her, Napier, I certainly will."_ he had insisted with a chuckle. He had grown out of that stage by now, thank God, and had even started a constant correspondence with her. They had been friends for just about two years now, but now as he watched her follow his dashing friend around with that admiring glint in her eyes that she had not once given to him, he began to doubt how much progress he had really made.

"Why, don't you like him?" His slightly older blonde rival's voice interrupted his thoughts, but Evelyn never looked at him. He was an amiable sort of gentleman, but the nobleman could not bring himself to be anything other than simply polite to him, since it was evident that he too was interested in Mary.

"I like him very much." he answered flippantly, glaring at the door. How could he even think of Kemal as a good friend after this? He was flirting at her at dinner and now she went after him like bees to honey. He couldn't even say for certain that Kemal wasn't trying to sabotage him because of the smug look he had given him. _This is, without a doubt, the absolute last time I introduce him to a lady in whom I am interested,_ he vowed silently. "But so does everyone else unfortunately." Unfortunately he was beginning to realize that it _had_ hurt him, and it wasn't funny however absurdly ironic the situation was. The fact that she found him so dull was crushing, disheartening. He felt suffocated and just wanted to be left to his dreams. However, Lady Edith, Mary's younger sister, seemed intent on catching his attention. She smiled widely at him and started over toward the two gentlemen. "Excuse me." Evelyn, in effect, repeated Mary's rude exit, not bothering to glance at either Edith or her cousin as he slipped away. He could easily feign a headache and wallow in his embarrassing failures in his guest room. He pushed open the door to the drawing room, shutting it behind him and holding the bridge of his nose, mentally berating himself. When he lifted his eyes, he could barely hold in a gasp when he saw Kemal pinning Mary against the wall, kissing her full on the lips.

"Mr. Pamuk—"

"Let me come to you tonight."

"Ahem."

The livid expression on Evelyn's face accompanied by his voice caused the pair to turn around in shock. "What the devil are you playing at, Kemal?" he demanded sharply, taking several easy strides toward his friend before folding his arms over his chest.

"We were just having a bit of fun, weren't we?"

Mary looked petrified and then indignant, but Evelyn wasn't even looking at her. "We're leaving in the morning and I suggest you go to bed."

Pamuk appeared angry at this, but his voice stayed even, charismatic. "Are you giving me orders now? I'd hate for the embassy to have cause to believe you were being inhospitable!"

"Are you alright, Lady Mary?" Evelyn inquired concernedly, ignoring the Turk as his eyes seeked hers earnestly.

She blinked out of her stupor and found it in her to nod. "Yes, yes, quite. Mr. Pamuk and I had a misunderstanding."

"I'm terribly sorry for his behavior, milady. We _will_ be leaving promptly in the morning and there will be no annoyance for you, I promise." he replied solemnly, glaring over 'friend' disgustedly.

"Don't see so petty, Napier. You're only sore that she wanted _me_ and not you."

"Steady on, sir." His steely gaze was aimed at putting Pamuk in his place, but the dignitary was not finished.

"In fact, who's to say I won't come to her tonight and show her a few things before the two of you wed? I'd be doing you a fa—" He never got to finish his sentence because Evelyn's clenched fist slammed into his mouth, unhinging a few of those sparkling teeth that had so wooed Mary during dinner.

She yelped and jumped back as Pamuk shoved Evelyn to the floor and punched him back, but the viscount's son managed to get out from under him with a rugby player's reflexes and hit him in the eye with a left hook. Mary was horrified as well as shocked at the display, but even more shocked that Evelyn Napier of all people had picked a fight with a man to defend her honor. She did not get the opportunity to contemplate this much further, because the drawing room door opened and her father emerged, followed by Matthew and the others. "What the _devil_ is going on here?" the Earl's voice boomed.

Evelyn separated himself from Pamuk with a shove, straightening out his torn tailcoat and smoothing back his disheveled chocolate hair as best he could. How _would_ he explain this? Such a slip up in temperament was so foreign and drastic in his character. He had no idea what had come over him, but watching Pamuk try to seduce her when it was clear she didn't want or expect such a thing, combined with the sheer insult to her virtue, were enough to make the normally mild-mannered young man see red.

"Mr. Pamuk was accosting me, and Mr. Napier stepped in to help." Mary answered for him smoothly, her eyes glancing at Evelyn before returning to her father.

"He _what_? Get out at once!"

"Papa, the earliest train is at nine…" Mary reminded him.

"Then he shall be on it. Go to bed." Under any other circumstances, Mary would have found it funny that the man was forced to comply with Evelyn's order since her father was the one now giving it.

"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Grantham—and to you, Lady Mary. I was a thoughtless fool to bring him here. I will be on the train as well, as I told Lady Mary. I must stay out of your hair." Evelyn apologized grimly, again becoming the prim and proper aristocrat despite his rumbled dinner clothes and askew hair from the fight.

"You most certainly _won't_ be in our hair." Lady Grantham spoke up kindly. "You're welcome to stay—in fact, we insist." She glanced at her husband who nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Lady Grantham, Lord Grantham." The Countess had always been kind to him him—he suspected it was because of the friendship between her and his late mother stretching back to since she had first come to England—but this was an entirely different level of benevolence after his bringing that horrid man to their home, disgracing the house by his mere presence. He was too angry with Pamuk—no longer Kemal—to mourn their friendship. His true colors had shown, and Evelyn wanted nothing more to do with him. If it got him in trouble with the Foreign Office, so be it, but he had not been about to sit and watch his friend ruin the woman he loved.

_Love_. The word entered his mind rather suddenly. Yes, he had already determined that his reason for marriage must and would be love, and he wanted a chance to perhaps one day marry Mary Crawley, but it was only now that his mind connected the two words—Mary and love. _Mary, the woman I love_. How long had he loved her? Perhaps he had fallen before and not realized it, but currently he was well aware that he loved Mary Crawley.

"Shouting has worn me out. Goodnight, Mr. Napier." Lord Grantham held out his hand, causing Evelyn to return to the present moment and shake it firmly. "Goodnight, Lord Grantham." The Countess and her youngest daughters soon followed, leaving Matthew, his mother, and Evelyn downstairs.

"Are you quite alright, Cousin Mary?" the lawyer inquired, his voice echoing Evelyn's previous concerns.

"Perfectly. Thank you, Cousin Matthew."

"That was a very brave thing, I must say, Mr. Napier." Mrs. Crawley, as she had been introduced to him, stated, distracting him from the exchange between the two cousins.

"I only did what was necessary." he answered with a modest smile. He didn't see it as heroic—in fact, it was probably reckless, but he head that love often had that effect on people.

"Mr. Napier." Matthew held out his hand, a begrudging respect in his eyes. Evelyn realized then that he would have done the same thing, but he had just happened to get outside the drawing room first. "Mr. Crawley. A pleasure meeting you." he answered with an equally respectful nod.

"The pleasure is all mine." The man and his mother then departed for their house in the village by car, and Evelyn by rules of propriety was prepared to head back to the bachelor's corridor since they were now unchaperoned.

"Mr. Napier, may I have a moment?"

He nodded, visibly taken off guard, and clasped his hands behind his back. "Of course, Lady Mary."

Mary nodded gratefully and then smiled in amusement. "Now that we're alone, it seems odd to bother with titles when we don't in our letters."

Evelyn's face relaxed into a smile as well. "It does, doesn't it?" He had forgone using 'Lady Mary' three letters in at her request, and had never used it in writing since. She probably thought nothing of it, but the familiarity thrilled him, excited him, because of the intimacy of such a notion. The only other people to call him by his Christian name were friends from university and his father, neither of which cases were remotely the same as this.

"I wanted to thank you, Evelyn, for what you did. I'm sure I encouraged him in some way, which was stupid of me, and for that I'm sorry—"

"He's a scoundrel, Mary—the most rotten of men, unfit to be called a gentleman, and I led him to your doorstep. If anyone should apologize, it is I."

"Don't be ridiculous, it wasn't your fault." He had no free reign over his friend's behavior.

"No, I know he's a cad. I didn't know he would ever go this far, but I was fully aware of his shortcomings. _I _was stupid to bring him." He was ashamed for having brought him and for what _could_ have happened because of his poor judgment.

"If I knew that this would end with us apologizing to each other, I would have retired myself." Mary half-joked, and Evelyn chuckled in response. It was a charming laugh—and for the first time she realized that he had dimples when he laughed.

"Well, don't let me bore you." The hurt was evident in his eyes despite his attempts to subdue it even though the comment was uttered in a lighthearted tone.

Mary saw this and was filled with a rush of guilt. He obviously must have _liked_ her to have come for a visit, and even more so to have gotten himself into a brawl over her. "I don't. After that, I think I may have misjudged you." She met his eyes and was shaken herself by the raw intensity of his gaze, but it was he that broke the contact first, smiling softly.

"I wonder if tomorrow you might show me the gardens?" he asked, his eyes and voice reflecting an unrestrained hope.

"Of course. Directly after breakfast, if you'd like." she answered almost immediately with a quick smile. "Now I really must go to bed, so I'm not unnecessarily cross in the morning. Goodnight, Evelyn."

"Goodnight, Mary." He grasped her hand lightly and then marveled at her lingering gaze before letting go and watching her retreating figure for a moment, then blushed. He climbed the stairs to his own room and after his valet helped him into his pajamas, he laid awake for a few a few moments, musing over this swift change of events. She did not think him dull. Did this mean that one day she could love him? He hoped so. With the confession—to himself—that he loved Mary came the risk of heartbreak, which is what he was scared to endure. For that reason, his affections, however strong, were to be kept a secret until he was sure they had a chance together. With a hopeful heart he drifted off, not at all displeased at the angelic face that filled his dreams.


End file.
